Willing Hearts
by LoyalElf
Summary: Behind Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, there were thousands of other wands, hands, and hearts that fought for freedom. These are their stories, from the eyes-and the heart-of Ginny.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, welcome to what I hope will be a captivating saga about the Wizarding War-all the stuff we missed out on when we witnessed the Trio's adventure in the Deathly Hallows. :) **

**This is a bit of an introduction and is a little more dramatic than the next chapter, which will be a little more lighthearted. Some chapters will be a downpour of angst and drama (I warned you! I am warning you NOW!), some will be tear-jerkers, some will be a healthy mix, and some will be just silly. For laughs. Because, you know, there were times to laugh during war.**

**Disclaimer for entire story: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Rowling. (sadly) **

**Now, onwards!**

* * *

Chapter One—Silver Lining

Ginny Weasley could handle herself.

She was 16 years old. And she had spent those years with an unambitious, but loving and pushing father, a temperamental and adoring mother, and six elder brothers who were determined to make her the best she could be. Even if that meant by pulling pranks and punching her. Never where it could really hurt, just in the shoulders or the stomach if she was mouthing off too much.

But as tough as she was (and a dab hand at Charms, hexes, jinxes, and a good healing spell to balance it out) she could still be wounded, still be made to cry.

"_Does she think someone else is going to kill off You-Know-Who_…" Harry's voice echoed quietly in her head. Ginny sank onto her bed and gripped her knees tightly.

So. He really was intending to kill the darkest wizard in history, the killer of so many great and wonderful witches and wizards, the murderer of so many innocents.

_Enough_! She told herself fiercely, and in a single fluid movement she moved from her bed to the door. Harry had to leave, and she had to remain. But while they had some time left…she was going to use it well.

_Curse him, curse him to little pieces, bury him, and dance on his grave. Yeah. That'd do. _

Ron was a blooming idiot, and he was a hypocrite as well. Spent months snogging Lavender, then tells her off for hugging Harry. Works into an almost-relationship with Hermione, blows up at Harry for allowing Ginny to kiss him…one last time.

Those last three words caught in Ginny's mind suddenly and floated there, full of unwanted and in some cases unnamable implications.

It was his birthday. He was a fully grown wizard. They were separated for a reason, but that reason didn't mean anything if they still didn't…didn't love each other. Why the heck would Harry break up anyway? Why would it be such a big deal, if they didn't love each other?

One kiss.

It had lasted, as far as she could guess, for almost a minute. And it had ended in the worst way possible. Ron shouting, shouting hurtful things; Hermione running after him, angry and helpless; Harry giving her a fleeting look before turning and running; and Ginny herself had turned away and given into a luxury she rarely allowed herself…tears. She had closed the door after them and collapsed on her bed to cry. And she let the tears fall for as long as they needed, for the first time in her life, and so she cried for nearly an hour.

It wasn't, Ginny reflected as the tears began to slow, that she viewed tears as a weakness, or despised them. It was that it meant something had been lost. It meant that there had to be a recovery.

And she wasn't one to be patient and heal. She wanted to fix things, carefully, wonderfully, but quickly.

Ginny stood after a while, a little dizzy, and walked to the chair standing against one wall. There was a small, dark maroon hand towel draped across one arm. In a spurt of rebelliousness, she pulled out her wand and muttered a small charm that she had picked up on her own, and the towel become cool and damp in her hand. With a small sigh of relief she pressed her raw face into the soft material, washing away the salty trails of tears and blotting away the flush in her skin.

It was kind of nice in the towel.

Cool and dim, and lonely.

Then she slipped it off her face and looked straight up into the window. Without even thinking she let the cloth fall to the floor and moved soundlessly to the glass.

It was beautiful. It was only two hours or so from sunset, and the sky was aglow in many shades—gentle pink near the horizon, broad golden white where the sun was, lazy blue above, and fused with dusky purple in the east. Away across the lawn she could see strangers moving about, smoking and setting up for the wedding the next day.

Her senses drew inward and focused on the house. She was suddenly aware of the way the floor creaked above her head. Harry, Hermione, and Ron must have come back.

Thank God she was a silent crier.

Below her feet, the floor trembled a little, and she could hear several voices all talking at the same time. When she concentrated, Ginny could pick out her father's tired but content tenor, her mother's higher, harried tones, Fleur's low, sweet murmur, and all the others as well.

And she finally registered the smell of a warm, light meal and the sweet, powdery smell of a freshly baked cake.

Harry's birthday cake. Harry's dinner.

Swift and silent as a breeze, Ginny left the room to offer her help.

Her mother would not call her, not with guests in the house and so many people already in the kitchen, and her father understood without asking and would think she needed time.

But she didn't. She was ready.

Ginny Weasley could handle herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, welcome to Chapter Two :) The last chap was a bit of a solid, dramatic entrance, so I am slipping in some humor along with the angst in this one. I eat flames but would prefer constructive criticism. **

**These first few chapters, as I said before, will be a little slow as I pull in all the characters and then shoo them to their rightful places in the story.**

**To my two reviewers: Thanks for reviewing! I was so happy! **

**SilverMooonshine: Thanks for your compliment, I am glad you like my style 3 I like it too ;)**

**GabbiGrl: Thanks for your support! I will be publishing more, hopefully once a week. I estimate this will be around 40 chapters. Or more. We'll see... *grin***

* * *

Chapter Two—Two Very _One_-Sided Food Fights

_Lucky, lucky me_. Ginny had to bite her tongue to keep from saying the words aloud. After a very uncharacteristic drama, a very rare (nowadays) kiss, and a very unusual bout of crying, she got seated next to her ex-boyfriend at his birthday dinner.

Harry was keeping his head down, talking merrily when spoken to and laughing easily when the time was right, but otherwise he kept his eyes on his food. And he never, ever, looked Ginny in the eyes.

And they were both fiercely participating in and also fiercely pretending they were _not_ participating in a game which involved stabbing vegetables and cutting tiny slices of meat…so as not to brush elbows. Or allow their hands to touch. Or anything else for that matter, though the occasional touch of Harry's leg against hers was unavoidable in the cramped table. The tables were outside, but with so many people…

She had braided her hair tightly and hung it straight down her back just in case she happened to turn too quickly and brush him with it.

And she was very well aware that she was being paranoid.

* * *

Harry was enjoying his birthday meal, and he made a point of complementing Mrs. Weasley for her touching efforts…and thanking Fleur's family for their help.

It might have been chance that sat him next to the slender, shorter girl with the wide brown eyes, but he had a feeling that the suspiciously vigilant Mrs. Wealsey was now pulling the heartstring tactic. Guilt-tripping him.

He was quite sure that she was unaware of the…er…incident earlier, for she wasn't cruel enough to cause tension and anger like that, but if she was really afraid that he was going to leave, with her youngest son and Hermione in tow, then it was just like her to want someone to hold him back.

And she had zero problems with the idea of him and Ginny…as…a…couple. But this was getting ridiculous.

How was any sane person supposed to stab peas that have been generously rolled in buttery sauce, anyway? Or survive a very excellent bit of meat when you could only eat the deliciousness in tiny slivers? That was how he had to do it to avoid touching the girl next to him.

She smelled of flowers still.

_No. No. Think about something else! You are outside at dusk…there are flowers out here, and garden gnomes (what do gnomes have to do with flowers?!) and… and… _

_ What._

Harry gave up.

He was going to have to accept that he would spend a lot of time during his suicide mission thinking about Ginny Weasley.

He sighed slightly, then shook himself as the everyone at the table rose to move from dinner to dessert. He and Hermione and Ron were charged with moving the tables a little down the hill, in case of wind; Mr. Weasley and the Delacours began moving chairs and vanishing trash and dropped food; and Ginny followed her mother inside to collect new dishes and bring out dessert.

Her hair burned like fire in the late sun.

* * *

Ginny stormed back to her room and slammed the door behind her, unable to believe it.

She burst out in a strangled noise that was somewhere between cry and laugh.

So, the Minister of Magic had to crash the party! And of course he wants to talk privately with the Trio. And of course Harry emerges an hour later, a hole burned in his shirt, temper high, and a golden snitch in one hand. From Dumbledore.

A pang of hurt caught her in the chest. She hadn't known the late Headmaster like Harry had, but he had meant safety and hope and courage. He was the only wizard Voldemort feared (except for Harry.) Dumbledore had never gotten very close to any student except Harry Potter, but he had loved them all fiercely, and he never left them unguarded. Every year Ginny had been at school, some catastrophe had occurred, and the Headmaster had always thought first of the pupils at Hogwarts. In the fiasco at the Ministry in her fourth year, his arrival had inspired new vigor and hope, and his soft words had given comfort. He was a guide and protector.

Until he was dead.

Ginny bit her lip hard. If You-Know-Who had killed his greatest and wisest enemy, what would he do with a hotheaded, lucky, and _only just of age_ boy?

Meanwhile, the Ministry was blundering around, bouncing off walls and trying to look impressive.

Now Ginny did laugh. The sight of his royal highness Percival Weasley marching out of the Burrow with his nose In the air and his glasses splattered with lukewarm dinner food, _last_ year? Priceless. She had been steaming already when Harry went "for a stroll" with the Minister, but the next few minutes…

* * *

One Year Previously...

_There was an awkward pause, during which Percy stepped stiffly away from his mother. He looked down pointedly and smoothed the front of his robes as if slightly repulsed by his mother's embrace._

_Git._

_ Ginny turned to look at the twins slightly, and saw that Fred was gripping a fork tightly and George was gouging the table with his fingernails._

_ Percy cleared his throat loudly."I hope I find you all well?" His voice was tight and pompous. Ginny's mouth tasted like she had swallowed something metallic. _

_ "Oh, Percy," Mrs. Weasley said adoringly, "we're—we're fine! How are you, dear? Have you been very busy?"_

_ "Very."_

_ "Oooh, I'm so glad you came to see us!" Ginny saw George scratch a few more gashes in the tabletop. Her mother's eyes were shining, and her face glowed pink. _

_ "Yes, well…" Percy coughed slightly, and for the first time he looked around at everyone. When he looked at her, Ginny felt her stomach drop and anger flood her mouth like bile. She wanted to spit all the hexes she knew at those cold, derogatory eyes. Now. "Are the rest of you…doing well?"_

_ Like hell!_

_ "We were doing a hell of a lot better before you walked in, Perce." Fred's voice was light, but his words hit the air like shards of glass._

_ Percy didn't even flinch. "Well, I can leave if you'd like."_

_ "FRED! AND GEORGE, DON'T YOU EVEN DARE!" Their mother shrieked._

_ "Now, now, Molly—Percy—children—" Mr. Weasley said firmly. His eyes were glinting behind his glasses, and he was looking third son directly in the eyes. "Percy," he said finally. "Why did you really come back?"_

_His tone said he already knew. His wife gave a squeak of fright._

_ "To see you all, naturally." Ginny's brother said coldly._

_ "Really." Mr. Weasley said quietly, a small, cold smile curving his mouth. "Won't you stay awhile, Percy?"_

_ The two men locked gazes. Mrs. Weasley cowered between them, looking wounded. Bill and Charlie stood frozen behind their father. Bill had a disgusted look in his eyes, Charlie just looked discouraged and tense. Ginny felt the twins tense on either side of her, and she found that all three of them were in a similar stance—knees bent and taunt, ready to leap to their feet, arms folded on the table, all of them leaning forward slightly, eyes blazing._

_ "Of course not."_

_ Ringing silence._

_ "Percy…dear?" Molly Weasley sounded sick. Sick with fear and rejection._

_ And then Percy Weasley exploded. " Why the hell I came here will boggle my mind for as long as I live! Mother—" here he gently but firmly pushed her out of the way, and she stumbled back into Charlie's tight embrace—"I refuse to stay here! Why do you all stay here? AND YOU—" Percy was not shouting but his voice was shaking with anger. "Arthur Weasley, happy to stay in the Muggle Artifacts Department, happy to raise a blood traitor brood, happy to leave his family poor and a laughingstock!"_

_ The last few words shook the Burrow like thunder._

_ Ginny's ears were ringing. In a few moments, she had made her choice, only half-conscious of Fred and George doing the exact same thing on each side. She raised her wand under the table, and a small blob of gravy soared out of the warming bowl. Two other wands twitched on either side, and mashed potatoes and some soup rose into the air. Before Mrs. Weasley could do more than scream, three wands flicked violently in unison, and a disgusting hodge-podge of tepid food smacked Percy in his glasses and robes._

_ "__**You little blood traitor brats**__!" Percy's voice went up in volume and tone, and in the next few seconds he had stormed out the door, gravy-coated nose in the air, with his brothers and sister shouting and laughing at him and his mother staring after him, shaking._

* * *

So, one food fight to keep from touching Harry's elbows—

_Harry has nice elbows._

_ No, shut up me._

_ But he does! _

_ …Yeah, he does._

_ -_and one remembered food fight.

Ginny sighed. Yep, this new thing with the Minister refusing to give up the Sword of Godric Gryffindor was just another tally in a whole page of incidents.

With another sigh the teen stood up and walked carelessly to the mirror. She appraised herself critically, and then turned to change into pj's. It was going to be a restless night, and tomorrow was the wedding.

And, she knew without being told, the last time she would set eyes on Harry Potter for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey readers :) I know, I know, I am so so so late! I was NOT expecting the load of work that has been not-so-graciously showered from on high these past few weeks. I have a sibling and a friend that are both in and out of the hospital with injuries/whatever, and I am in charge of planning end-of-year stuff for several of my classes, so... -_- Forgive me?**

**Though I will honestly say, the more reviews I see the better I'll do. This isn't a bribe, just a fact. It always makes authors feel appreciated and as if they have someone depending on them, so yup XD**

**Sorry for how short these next two chapters are. It gets better, I promise, as will the plot. More talking, more action, and a LOT more angst/humor/other fantastic feels.**

**Onward! Enjoy! **

**Chapter Three—Freefall**

* * *

"Good morning to me," Ginny whispered into the stillness of dawn. She gave a small yawn and then gathered all her stubbornness in a dramatic last stand

against her anti-early-morning self, and sprang out of bed. A small, quickly stifled squeak escaped her as her bare feet touched the wood floor, and then she

recovered herself.

The sun was rising on the other side of the house, so Ginny's room was still dim. The majority of light came in rosily from behind partly drawn shades, and the

girl moved as silently as the quicksilver shadows around her as she undressed and went to shower. As the youngest (and more importantly, the only female)

child in her house, she was afforded a luxury—a bathroom attached to her bedroom. So yeah it was about a yard from one wall to another, but it was enough

privacy for her. Ginny showered quickly, and felt herself blush a little as she pulled out a tiny bottle. She had bought it from Diagon Alley last year, and had

been saving it for a special occasion (which mostly meant something involving Harry.) It was nothing spectacular, but it had been a little pricey.

Ginny popped the faux-pearl stopper and hurried on before she could feel too girly…about her magic soap.

Lord that sounded pathetic.

Magic soap. Oh, good Lord, magic soap.

All it did was even the skin tone, smooth it, and adjust it according to what you wore and what light you were in, for 24 hours. And she had saved it for months

and months.

Good. Lord.

The girl sped up and in less than ten minutes she was standing fully dressed and styled in front of the narrow wall mirror. The dress was not too clingy—it had

broad straps, comfortable and not too tight, a slight cowl neckline, and was fitted nicely to the waist. There it was tucked neatly and then fell gradually more

and more loosely before coming to a swishy hem a few inches below the knees, where it hushed gently whenever Ginny moved. She had let her hair hand

loose, sweeping over her shoulders and down her back in a fiery curtain against the shimmering gold of the dress.

If you blush, she told herself angrily, _Fred will rub it in until you __**die**__. Because heck, even if he dies first, he'll come back as a ghost just to torment me about soap and _

_blushing_.

She stuck out her chin a little and marched out of the room in sandaled feet.

* * *

"Awake already, dear?" Mrs. Weasley looked up from the table, where she was poring over stacks of blindingly white paper etched in gold. Her face was tired

but thrilled. "Guest lists," she added, waving to the papers. "Harry, Ron, and the twins will be escorting them in and they need to know who is sitting where."

Ginny nodded silently. She walked over to the stove, where a large pot of frosting was making itself. When her mother wasn't looking she dipped her finger

into it and sucked it, considering.

"Mum, you could make this a bit sweeter. And thicker."

Her mother looked up, startled. "What? Oh—you think so?" She bustled over to see for herself, and gave Ginny an approving glance. "Thank you, Ginny. You

look very nice, by the way."

Her daughter scowled at her back and made sure she still had her wand tucked strategically in a hidden pocket of her skirt. Most wizarding outfits, no matter

how frivolous or simple, had a pocket for keeping a wand in. This one was masked in the folds of the drapes of her skirt.

She thought of Fred and smirked. _Just in case._

Ginny turned her head away from the couple, blinking in the sparkling lights and the flowers and birds that filled the air. Her eyes caught Harry, smiling and

leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, one thin hand running through the messy back of his hair. It was so like him that Ginny smiled too.

Despite the kissing incident and Ron's stupid git attitude, Ginny had plans for Harry James Potter today.

One dance would make her blissfully happy. Two or more would send her over the moon. And heck yeah, she was fine with her girly-ness for the moment. For

the MOMENT, mind you.

She looked over again and felt her heart go heavy. Harry had vanished, along with Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Over the next hour, Ginny danced with 11 cousins, seven of them twice, all during 8 songs (they kept switching partners.) and hexed three people (one cousin,

one aunt, and a visitor who was making hushed remarks about marrying into a family with Veela blood. For heaven's sake!) Oh, and she also drank three

glasses of butterbeer. Small. And one she had only tasted before some blasted idiot, most likely a cousin, knocked it out of her hands and onto her mother's

shoes. Luckily, Mum had just laughed it off and vanished the liquid, but still.

She had just backed away and left the tent when her foot caught on something and she went spilling to the grass. Anger and self-disgust warred with tears

and self-pity for just a moment, but then—

"Vould you like a hand?"

Ginny turned and found herself staring at three completely unexpected people. The person who had spoken was, naturally, Viktor Krum. On either side of him

was a girl—one a small but bright-eyed brunette wearing light turquoise robes and clutching Krum's hand, and the other was…

…Luna.

"As a matter of fact I would," Ginny sighed, and Krum held out his free hand and helped her up. "Thanks, um…"

He smiled thinly. "You can call me Viktor. You are Bill Veasley's little sister? And Ron's?"

"Um, yes." The girl nodded, tossing her long hair over one shoulder. "Fleur invited you?"

"Yes."

There was an awkward pause, but then Luna, in an embarrassingly vacant but welcome voice, said, "Oh, I suppose we'd better have introductions, then? So

Viktor, Ginny—Ginny, Viktor. And—oh my, could you remind me of your name? I'm rather bad at them."

Viktor, Luna, and Ginny all turned their eyes to the girl, who was still loosely holding Krum's hand.

She blushed bright pink in her cheeks and nose, but tilted her chin determinedly. She had startlingly blue eyes and a mane of soft, dark brown curls that fell to

her waist; a soft, slightly round face, a rosebud little mouth, and tanned skin scattered with summer freckles. When she spoke, her voice was clear and strong,

with melodic undertones, and it hinted that she had a loud, merry laugh.

It was also very _American_.

"Maris Keen. My name is Maris Keen." She smiled suddenly. It wasn't a super-star smile, but it was like the sun—warm and merry and bright. "I guess this

awkward meeting is the beginning of 'our party', right?"

The other three laughed.

And then something bright blue hurtled into the center of the tent and a sickening, fragile silence fell around them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four—Time Bomb**

* * *

Happiness is a time bomb. Misery is a time bomb. Life in general is a time bomb. Someone—nature, a god, the fates, whatever—pulls a bunch of switches,

neatly ties the package, and all of our lives explode with new events whenever. Seemingly randomly, sometimes.

Sometimes that is wonderful. A birth, a gift, and vacation, a new job, a date, a new book, some new discovery, marriage, promotion…and the surprise makes it

blissful and full of thrills. It makes us want to live.

And others…other times, the downfall, the death, the crash, the job loss, the burned home, the robbery, the disappearances, the literal bombings…the surprise

catches you off guard and you want to die. The surprise makes it worse.

The day had been full of little explosions—the silly grin on Harry's face whenever she smiled at him, his praise of her appearance, the annoying cousins, her

favorite song being played, the stupid drink spilling, the warmth of the sun, her stumble, her new friends…and now the collapse of the wizarding government.

One of the last buffers against You-Know-Who, a feeble façade, but one that symbolized civilization and order and law. A chance for structure.

The blue light had materialized into a glowing lynx. Light or vapor or smoke…a patronus. It reared up and spoke in a familiar baritone, usually so comforting and

now terribly real and ominous.

Kingsley's voice echoed through the tent, as silence was still spreading. "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegour is dead. They are coming."

A thunderous silence as the lynx evaporated, a chill that spread through the now immobile crowd, and then the time bomb really went off.

People screamed, and already masked and hooded men were apparating into their midst. Ginny screamed in anger as she saw one aim multiple times and

send three people—her father included—flying backwards into statues and tent poles. Her shout was echoed by the dual cry of the twins as they drew wands

as sent hexes flying back at the Death Eater.

Or Ministry member.

Who the hell cared anymore?

Ginny's wand was in her and in a single, fluid motion, and to her surprise she found herself back-to-back with her new friends: Luna on her left, Viktor behind

her, and Maris on her right. All with wands drawn, firing curses and jinxes at anyone wearing black, anyone firing at their friends and family, anyone searching

the crowd for—

"Oh my gosh!" Ginny burst out, looking around frantically for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. There was no sign of them anywhere. She didn't dare call their names.

Her heart sped up, hot with anger and a kind of terror she had experienced too many times in her nearly 16 years.

A dark-robed wizard came hurtling out of nowhere and grabbed her by the wrists, trying to get a hold on her and remove her wand at the same time.

"_Pertrificus totalus_!" The spell missed and hit a vat of punch which exploded into the faces of several Death Eaters. _Ah, well, did some good, then._

She felt her wand begin to slide from her grip, and a gloved hand came up to her throat. "Now, now, just hold still, girl." The voice was deep and

condescendingly kind. "We don't intend to kill you…but accidents happen."

"Go to hell—" Ginny started to say, but then another voice cut in, slightly higher than before but filled with fierce anger.

"_Ferbis cutis_!" A flash of red light caught the Death Eater in the neck and he reeled. Ginny watched, half-pleased, half-curious, as his skin turned uncomfortably

red and he started to shake. Trembling, clammy hands released her, and she stepped back, tightening her grip on her wand.

"_Stupefy_," the same voice added angrily, "you stupid idiot!" The man collapsed, still very red in the face.

"Thanks," Ginny panted, turning to see the newcomer. Her eyebrows shot up. It was Maris, who had flung off her thin, dark blue summer cloak, now looking

bright and determined in her turquoise robes. Her eyes were naturally a startling color, but with the heat of anger in her cheeks and a wand in her hand she

looked positively deadly.

Yep, they were meant to be friends. Ginny felt a grin tug at her lips and nodded slightly.

Maris' eyes met hers and Ginny saw approval glinting above the emotions of fear and shock in their depths.

* * *

Maris looked around at the girl she had just helped—what was her name, again? June? Jenny? No, no, it was Ginny.

She was choking a little. No wonder. Freaking black-robed moron had just tried to _strangle_ her! But she drew herself up and analyzed Maris.

Dark red hair, blazing down her back and flying a little in the frantic movement all around them, framing a pale, narrow face with freckles and keen, bright

brown eyes. Ginny Weasley...hm. People liked to say "lover not a fighter" or vice versa. Viktor was mostly _fighter_, Luna was mostly _lover_, and Maris and Ginny

were a heck of a lot of both.

She was afraid, but she also looked murderous.

Maris hoped Ginny also knew some good hexes, because there was NO WAY they were going down without a good old fashioned fight.

* * *

Okay, so they hadn't got to fight all that much. The wedding party—what was left of it—had been rounded up. Not harmed, but threatened quite clearly.

The Trio was nowhere in sight, but the Death Eaters kept muttering about Harry. From what Ginny had heard, they didn't seem to know he had been here. But

they were looking for him. They had hoped he was here.

All she could do was pray, and hope to high heaven that they could have a break from bad time bombs for a while.

Her hand tightened around her wand, now tucked back in its pocket.

It wasn't over yet.


End file.
